The Drinking Game
by aquaesulis76
Summary: [Torchwood] There's an Englishman & an Welshman in a pub... or 'What should have happened.' Spoilers up to Out Of Time.


Disclaimer: If they were mine, I wouldn't be writing about them.

This is for all the Torchwood FanFiction crew, who agreed that we needed to see this in one of the episodes - and then sent out a plot-bunny attack. It's all their fault, honest.

Round One

They arrived at the pub door at the same time, from opposite directions. Owen stepped back to let the taller, broader man approach the door first. In the unspoken chivalry which still exsists within the drinking fraternity, Rhys opened the door and guestered for the scrawny kid to enter first. In a slightly staggered formation, they walked purposely towards the bar. Rhys went with his normal pint, but Owen, feeling he deserved it, went straight for the hard stuff.

Sitting side by side, at the polished wooden counter, the two quickly sunk into the quiet despondency of men with Trouble (with a visible definite capital T). Oblivious to the familiar sights and sounds of the publife all around them.The barmaid, not used to her most prominant assets being so comprehensively ignored, set their refills down a little harder than normal.

"Woman trouble?" she inquired sarcastically.

"Yes." They replied together, then turned to look at each other with expressions straight out of a Laurel & Hardy film. The barmaid rolled her eyes, and left the pair to it.

Owen and Rhys meanwhile, had found common ground.

"Women." grumbled Rhys.

"Can't live without them, impossible to live with them." agreed Owen

"I'd like the chance to try."

"I offered."

"Never see her anymore."

"Never said that before."

"It's her work you see. New job."

"Wanted adventure she said."

"She's completely obsessed by it."

"Thought I was too settled. Me!"

"Not that she ever tells me anything about it."

"I mean, I'm not staid and boring."

"I think she forgets I exsist."

"Party animal, me."

They both slammed their empties down and Rhys held up his finger for another round.

"See, I'm a doctor. You know, funny hours, life and death if you get beeped. Hard to meet someone who doesn't just want a quick shag. Nothing wrong with that, suits me fine. But she... she was special. Different. And I meant it."

Owen drained his third and cradled the glass, lost in memories of a pair of brown eyes.  
Rhys collected the fourth round and pushed the empties to the barman, thinking of another pair of dark eyes.

"That's like my G... my girlfriend." he informed. "Special. Makes me feel alive. Needed. Has done since the day we met. Knew then I did, she was the one. I've never stopped loving her. But it's this new job, a promotion she told me, but she's out all hours, comes home knackered. We hardly ever eat together anymore. She didn't even notice the flowers I bought her last weekend."

The fifth round was ordered.

"Women." Owen was passing into bitter. "They take you, chop you up, dance on the peices and laugh."

"With high heels on." Rhys joined him.

"Other thing, there's this girl at work. Nice girl, great arse,"

"I'm a boob man myself." Rhys interjected.

"Yeah, she's got a pair of them and all. We, well, we'd had a killer of a day. Literally. And one thing led to another. She's got a boyfriend who sounds a right stick-in-the-mud. You know, proper house-husband type, and he'd never have understood what we'd gone through. So, we helped each other out a bit, and then went on helping. Gone a bit funny on me now."

"They do that." Rhys was heading for maudlin.

She's one of the few people who could understand, truly understand the job. What it's like. And sometimes I need something too you know."

"Me and mine used to be like that. Talk each other through the day. Now I'm lucky if I get one word from her. At least I know it's not another bloke. She's always too bloody tired. And she comes home with some really bad bruises as well. Should get danger money I'm thinking. You ok mate?"

Owen's attention had been diverted.

"Come here often?"

"Yeah, why/"

"Show the footy?"

"Yeah, it's great on them big screens. Who's your team?"

"Gunners. Worst part about living here is not being able to get to all their games. You?"

"Cardiff of course. We'll get to the Premiership one day."

Silence fell, minds successfully re-directed.

Suddenly a loud beeping broke the spell.

"Just like her that is."

"Oh hell, here we go again."

"See you Saturday, yeah?"

"Gotcha"

The End - Maybe.

Jan 07


End file.
